Oh Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be
by Tristan-the-Dreamer
Summary: .Trauma Center: Post New Blood. EPIC SPOILERS. A story that will explore the interplay between Dr. Rousseau, Prof. Wilkens, and Markus. No slash. Rated for language, angst and a little grossness. I'm combining this with burned/brk; sorry for the confusion
1. Burned and Broken: Rousseau and Val

**"Oh Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be"** by Tris

A/N: AllRIGHT! So, here's how it goes. What was originally titled "Burned and Broken" is now chapter one of "Fools." I am uploading chapter 2 as well, which is new material, and what used to be chapters 1 and 2 of "Fools" are now chapters 3 and 4. Weee! Hopefully chapter 5 will be up fairly soon. I would estimate that in the end this will be 8 or so chapters. Oh yes, much more to come...

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_Rousseau stumbled into the bar, eyes staring but seeing nothing. People gave him a curious glance as he made his weaving way to the counter. He slumped down at the bar._

_"Hey man, how many drinks have you had today?" The bar tender asked with a grin, throwing his towel on his shoulder._

_"None, yet. Give me a glass of Cognac, please. Remy Martin."_

_"Good choice!" The tender said approvingly. "You've got a sophisticated palette…and a thick wallet too I hope," he added with a chuckle, turning to fetch the drink. He returned and poured a full measure of the burnt orange liquid._

_Rousseau tossed it back, panting slightly._

_"Whoa! Wasn't that hard stuff?" A teenage boy asked admiringly._

_"Hell yes," Rousseau gasped. He raised his hand for the tender to hit him again._

_This is what happened one Winter evening, long ago. But the consequences reach into today._

_oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo_

"…Ugh…"

"Dr. Rousseau, are you awake?"

"Wha…Dr. Blaylock? Is that you?" Luc blinked groggily.

"Can't you see me? I'm right here."

"Without my glasses, I-I'm nearly…I…please, can you help me find my glasses?" He groped over the edge of the bed, hand knocking into the sidetable.

"I'm sorry, but the skin on your face is badly singed. It would hurt you to wear them," Val explained, reaching out and gently catching his searching hand before laying it back on the blanket.

"Singed? How did…I remember now, there was a fire…how b-badly did I get burned?" His voice rose in pitch and volume, while decreasing in stability. "Am…am I going to…how bad do I…is…what…"

"Luc, calm down, it's going to be okay." Val knelt by his bed so he would at least see her in blurry form. "Most of the burns were on the side of your chest; you're not going to need plastic surgery."

"But will I look…the same?" Luc asked, going rigid as he stared in her general direction.

Val paused, swallowing slowly. "You…might not," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "A specialist was called in to do some delicate work on your face, so there should be minimal scarring there, but Luc…there were many third-degree burns on your body. We had to perform debridement—"

"Debridement?" Luc cried out. "How much? Did you…Dr. Blaylock, I've seen burn victims! I d-don't want to look like that! I want to look like me! Please, _please_ get me a mirror and my glasses." Tears were pouring down his face as he fought against bursting into hysterical sobs. "Oh God, please! I'll say three thousand Hail Mary's if you'll only…my glasses, please, why aren't you getting them?" He convulsed in a single sob and shook with the effort of pulling himself together.

"I t-told you, Luc, you can't wear them." Val bit her lip, tears filling her own eyes as she gently smoothed the remains of his burnt hair a couple times. It had no effect on him. "Do you wear contacts? Maybe—"

"Y-you just don't want me to see myself, that's all it is! I'm crippled, aren't I? Disfigured!" He spat, chest heaving. "What if…I can't go back to work?"

"Oh, what a tragedy. You'll have to take a break from drinking coffee and lapping up patients' praise." Markus muttered from the doorway.

"Markus? I thought you were going to—"

"Wait in the lobby, yeah; I came to tell you I can see the Director's car coming up the drive."

"What's going on?" Luc asked, voice high and sharp. He was visibly struggling to plunge his emotions under the surface. "Not Irene Quatro, the director of Caduceus?"

"Yeah, you know her?"

"The Professor has mentioned her once or twice. Why is she coming today?"

"I wanted to tell you before we left, Luc--Markus and I are being ordered to transfer to Caduceus, Maryland. We're leaving today as soon as the Director gets here."

"Which is basically now." Markus looked out the window across the room, shading his eyes.

Ignoring Markus and turning toward the shape he knew to be Val, the injured man gathered his remaining scraps of self-control and sanity. "What will you be doing in Caduceus?"

"Well, it's up in the air, but probably something to do with Stigma."

"Oh." If a person's face could actually show their heart breaking, this was it. "So…you'll be working quite a bit with this new disease?"

"Yes…" Understanding dawned on Val's face. "I-I'm sorry Luc, I know you would have loved the chance to study Stigma…"

"It's so beautiful," he murmured, blinking back tears. "So complex. Its potential swings from one extreme to the other—dark or light. The paradox of it…" he trailed off, trying hard to smile. "You're very fortunate, Doctor."

"Luc…" Val choked up. "You can visit, you know. I'm sure you can."

"I've always loved puzzles," Luc continued, lost in his thoughts. "Stigma is the greatest puzzle of all. Its workings, its origin and exact behavior…and does it have consciousness? Provoking questions…"

"I didn't know you were such a deep thinker." Val could no longer see through her tears.

"Oh yes..." He looked her full in the face, estimating where her eyes were. "Val, promise me you will respect Stigma. Respect it, and never abuse it." He was propping himself up on his elbow, staring fiercely.

Markus looked out the window again. "…Val, she's here, we have to leave."

"But—Markus!" Val gestured helplessly. "We're still saying goodbye…and he hasn't had a chance to tell us about the fire or—"

"We have to go, Val," Markus said quietly. "I'm sorry. Irene will know how to get the information. So long, Rousseau."

"Good…goodbye, Luc," Val said, getting up slowly. "Don't worry. You'll be back to work in no time, I'm certain—" she stopped. His expression was so stricken that it was painful to look at him. "I-I'll let you get some rest," she amended, and followed Markus to the door.

"Wait!"

She whirled at Luc's voice and found him forcing himself to sit up again. "What?"

He was staring at her, his sightless eyes speaking words he could not express. When Val hesitated, Markus gently took her arm and pulled her away. She stared into his eyes until she could see him no more.

_To be Continued_


	2. Falling Flat: Markus and Rousseau

**"Oh Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be" Chapter two by Tris**

**A/N:** Will you please tell me if you think Markus is OOC in this chapter? I know he usually puts up with junk and focuses on the patients, but…something's gotta give sometime! I think he must have to deal with lots of stress, and I thought it would be plausible for him to explode. Exploding doctors…nice…sigh. I hope I didn't make Val too overbearing, but she really can be a spitfire when she wants, eh? XD

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"Stop_._ Markus, something isn't right. Please, Madame Director, we have to go back!"

Bringing the car to a halt, Director Quatro twisted around in the driver's seat and blinked in gentle confusion at Val. "What?"

Markus glanced at his coworker, who was beside him—and herself—in the backseat. "Val, we can't do this. He has to deal with his own problems."

"No! This isn't right! We have to go back. Markus." She grabbed his wrists pleadingly. "We're responsible for more than physical wounds, aren't we?"

"Val, we're not psychologists _or_ counselors."

"Technically, we're not. But…in reality, isn't that what we do? What else would you call the way we comfort and reassure patients when a procedure frightens them? We care for the body, yes, that's what we studied. But the body is nothing without the soul and the mind—we can't turn a blind eye when we know something's wrong with those parts! I know you won't regret going back." She had not let go of his wrists.

"Why are you so…"

"There was something in his eyes. There's something we have to find out."

"Couldn't you have given me some kind of…notice?" Irene ran a hand through her platinum blond hair and fought back a weary sigh. "I have a tight schedule planned for today—"

"We're being forced to transfer; you could at least let us have a proper goodbye with our colleague, no matter how stuck up he may be!"

"_Val!_"

"No, she's right." Irene sighed and began pulling a U-turn. "We need you badly at Caduceus, but that's no reason to cut short a goodbye, especially with a colleague. I don't know the man, but I do know what it's like to part ways with a friend. I agree; we must go back."

"Thank you," Val whispered, sinking back into her seat and slowly releasing her grip on Markus.

"…for thou hast borne Christ the Savior, the Deliverer of our souls." Eyes closed, Luc straightened the thumb of his right hand; all five digits were now extended. Just as quickly he clenched the hand into a fist and converted the extensions into the naked ring finger of his left hand, which now had three digits extended. He drew a shallow breath. His tearstains were nearly dry by now. "Rejoice, O Virgin…" He paused and looked up at the sound of footsteps drawing near. "Hello?"

"Luc, it's me!" Val crossed the room and resettled herself in the bedside chair.

"Hey Dr. Rousseau," Markus seconded stiffly.

Luc knitted his brows momentarily. "Would you like to pull up a chair, Dr. Vaughn?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Markus leaned against the doorframe.

Luc shrugged, then hesitantly reached out and touched Val's hand, as if to be certain she was really there. His blind eyes looked in her general direction from under his brows. "Why…?"

"I couldn't just leave you like that, Luc."

"Hm. Dr. Vaughn could, at any rate." Luc glanced coolly at the doorway, where Markus' blurred form hovered.

"Um…well, he…Markus?"

"Yes, Markus, do tell us why you're so outgoing today." Luc's brows furrowed again, then slid into their habitual cocky position. "I've always wanted to improve my social skills, and you could be the poster boy for any etiquette school. Tell us, Markus. How is it you manage to exude such warmth and cheer?"

"Shut up, Rousseau," Markus spat, crossing his arms and scowling.

"Markus," Val's tone was warning. She moved her eyes from Luc to him, with a meaningful expression.

Markus gave a long, tightly controlled sigh. "I don't mean to be rude—I know it was pretty mean to leave without much of a farewell, but—you're _so damn annoying!_"

"M—"

"No, no, Miss Blaylock—let him have his say," Luc purred icily. "Maybe we will have some enlightenment."

"Enlightenment?" Markus twitched irritably and began pacing, his words too volatile to be held back. "Barring you, the whole hospital is already enlightened. What do you expect, that I'm gonna throw flowers and confetti at you as I leave? I'm _happy_ I never have to work with you again!

What were you thinking, Rousseau, all those years? Was I a machine to you, able to take on more and more and more work, things you just didn't feel like doing? I'm human!" Markus rapidly stabbed his own chest with a forceful index finger. "I have _limits!_ I need to sleep and eat once in a while! I put up with you for the patients' sakes, but to be frank I'm run down, exhausted, and you've gotten under my skin. You're—no—_doctor!_"

"And you are?" Luc asked condescendingly. "You packed your bags and ran to Alaska, leaving your patients with no one to take care of them. I operated on those patients, Dr. Vaughn, when Professor Wilkens was too sick to do work. That's how I because Chief Surgeon. I proved myself."

"Do you have any words in your vocabulary beside the first person pronoun?" Markus snapped, as Val buried her face in her hand. "I have never met anyone so narcissic. I think you spend all your time staring in the mirror, that's why you pass off your patients! And if you did such a glowing job while we were gone, why did you suddenly stop, huh? I haven't seen you do anything that makes me believe you deserved that promotion!"

"Look, Markus, just calm down," Val pleaded. "Maybe he was burnt out from all the extra work. Besides, he's right; we left quite suddenly_ and_ against the Professor's orders."

"Maybe so," Markus ground out, "but nothing is an excuse for acting like everyone should bow down to you. The fact that patients actually like you is nothing but a testament to your incredible powers of charlatanism."

"I did not get a degree from Feinberg by learning and doing nothing—" Luc began angrily, lunging to a sitting position.

"Luc, please, lie down," Val begged. "This is a pointless argument. Everyone has flaws and makes mistakes. Why do you want to compare?"

"Hey, I've heard you do some backbiting on Rousseau," Markus said, breathing heavily.

"Yes, it's true." Val dropped her gaze. "But after this whole Stigma disaster, I realize more than ever that life, saving lives, is more important than petty annoyances. I wish you would both realize that."

"You think you've gained wisdom, Dr. Blaylock, but you don't know anything!" Luc's voice was charged with a sudden, fierce bitterness.

"What…?! But Luc…I didn't mean…I was just saying—you're not being fair!" Her brown eyes spat sparks.

"I don't need your stupid life lessons. You've been through nothing scarring enough to sear wisdom into your brain."

"Right, and getting toasted gave you long-lost secrets." Markus scoffed. "Why do you think you're such an expert on the harshness of life? Come on, weren't you born with a silver spoon in your mouth?"

"I know, you think you're clever. I'd love to be around the day that illusion shatters for you." He turned his back and would speak no more.

Confused and embarrassed, Val followed Markus out the door and down the hall…again. "What on earth happened…? All of a sudden we were all made at each other…and I never—"

"I told you it was a lost cause," Markus said wearily, holding the door to the stairs for her.

"But I tell you…there was something in his eyes…"

_To be Continued…_

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**A/N: **Wow. So Luc was starting to warm up to Val, but Markus' brusque attitude shut him off. And you can't blame Markus too much, Luc put him through a lot…but why did Luc pop his lid at Val? You'll see…


	3. Awaking to demons: Markus and Wilkens

**"Oh Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be"** by Tris

**Chapter one--"Awaking to Demons"**

A/N: Psh, this thing looks longer in Word...oh well. This is the first chapter of a rather experimental story I'm beginning. Two other chapters are written for it, one mostly written, but it will take time to polish. HOWEVER, what I mean by "experimental" is I'm going to try to not just make a one-shot but rather write in a more sweeping style and cover longer time periods, focus more on the big picture and not so much micro-stories. I am inspired to do this because I so admire Juicy Fruit's way of making huge adventures and sagas, so I am stepping out to try something new! I'm nervous but excited too. And, I am not discontining my works in progress! I am chipping away at them bit by bit. Um...I pretty much spend all my freetime writing TC stuff. Sad but true. So let's get to the story!

First--This is a work in progress, undetermined length, that will focus on the interplays between Luc Rousseau, Lloyd Wilkens, and Markus Vaughn. This is post New Blood and picks up right after a surgery done to try to get the Prof.'s memory back. This surgery is not in the game. The POV will vary from chapter to chapter; like I said, this is experimental. And as usual for me, no slash will be featured. Reviews are appreciated. Can we end the author's notes now? Yes.

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**"Awaking to Demons"**

"P-professor Wilkins?"

I blinked my eyes open, uneasy at the tenseness in Markus' voice. He was staring at me, hope burning in his dark eyes. "Markus? What's going on?" 

"Do you remember?" He leaned forward slightly, almost quivering.

"Remember?" I frowned. "You operated on me for Stigma, and…wait…" I stiffened, terrified as something shifted in my mind. Pictures flashed before me, things better left unseen. I looked at Markus, angry and confused at the words pouring out of me. "The fire…Rousseau screaming, the man in a silver mask…grabbing everything, grabbing me…too weak to fight…pain…_what did I do?_"

"Professor, just calm down—"

"Undo whatever witchcraft you've done," I demanded, voice shaking. "I don't want to remember this, do you understand? I want it erased. Why did you do this to me?"

"You have to know the truth," Markus said forcefully. "I will not deceive you. Unless you have these memories, you won't be able to understand why you had brain surgery, or the present status of Stigma."

"Stigma…what happened to it?"

"It's under control, but not defeated…yet. Caduceus Japan has created an operation simulator for all the strains, though. Val and I gave it a test drive; I'm confident it will save lives."

I lay still for a few moments. When I could speak again, my voice was cracked. "Markus, how did this happen? Why did it turn on us? We gave it life; we honored it by studying it carefully…why…?"

Markus briefly clenched his jaw. "It lives the same way it was born, chaos. It's designed to destroy; there is nothing good in it, and you shouldn't be surprised at the destruction it's wrought."

"No…There is good in everything, everything is pure, it only gets twisted. I refuse to believe that Stigma is evil. It is unique…it holds so many promises of knowledge, discovery…it's a treasure that you were blessed to find, Markus. Don't…destroy it." My voice faltered at the set look in his face.

"It's come to the point where either it takes us down, or we exterminate it. There is no middle ground with this demon. Can't you understand, Dr. Wilkens? You and the others were wrong. It was a freak of nature that we should have disposed of then and there. We had no business bringing a new horror into the world, and now we owe it to people everywhere to destroy it. Surely you understand…it's brought nothing but pain and death…"

Every one of his words was a silent knell that killed another, another, and yet another piece of my heart. All my careful research was good for nothing, just a thorn in the side of science? Numb to the lips and exhausted, I finally accepted his words as truth. 

I became aware that Markus had stopped talking and was staring at me. Simultaneously a large tear dropped off my face. I tried to stammer something, and then…I started to cry. One year shy of 50…and I just sat there in the hospital bed and cried.

Because I was so broken.

So disappointed.

So confused.

I didn't absorb what Markus said then…I only vaguely realized he'd gone to find a counselor…all I was aware of was the crushing pain inside me, worse than anything I'd ever felt. And I was certain…I had been reborn in hell.

_To be Continued_


	4. Reconsidering: Wilkens and Rousseau

**"Oh Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be" by Tris**

**Chapter Two--Reconsidering**

**_Prof. Wilken's POV_**

**A/N:** Sheesh, finally. Took me long enough. And there actually are more chapters to come, they're in the rough stages. I really like the one that comes after this, I think it will be Markuscentric. This chapter is a bit philosophical and some may likely disagree with my interpretation of Stigma. But hey…that's the way it goes. No one really spells out in New Blood _why_ some doctors find Stigma cool, except that it's "unique." Well…aren't other diseases unique? Meh, in any case, here is chapter two.

**But first, a disclaimer:** Atlus owns Trauma Center and all characters within this story. I made the plot for this story, that is all.

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"Prof. Wilkens, you have a visitor," the nurse announces from outside my room.

"Show him in, please." I raise my eyebrows as the door opens. "Dr. Rousseau? What the hell are you doing here?! Get out!" I lunge forward in my hospital bed and grind out the words.

"Please—just give me a chance," he says softly, looking at the floor. "I know you're angry with me, but I wanted to see you. Haven't for so long."

This should be amusing at the least, and I'm about to die from boredom so why not? I shrug and wave him in.

Rousseau walks into the room slowly—I'm surprised to see he's leaning on a cane for support. There are other changes too. His face is scarred; faint, but I can tell. Also his hair is much shorter, and he's shed his spectacles. He lowers himself into a nearby chair with a sigh.

"You're not looking well," he begins, his voice unusually concerned.

"I could say the same for you. What happened?"

"You were there…"

"The fire, I remember—you were badly burned, then?"

"Yes. I…I almost died. It was…" he squirms and furrows his brow. "Well, that's in the past."

I should ask him about his condition, should be polite at least…but the question that's been pounding inside me explodes out. "What were you doing in my office that night?"

He blinks for a moment, then stammers, "I'll…explain. I was hoping to…er…borrow—"

"I.e. steal."

His eyes blaze at the word. "No! I wanted to watch the recording of Stigma again, don't you understand? That's all! When I came into your office I saw a man dragging you out the window, and someone else was shoveling all the research into a sack. I didn't have time to do anything, because he climbed out and tossed a lit match into the room. From the smell of things, they must have doused the floor with gas beforehand. The room filled with flames and I was on fire before I knew it." He pauses, catching his breath. "Do you…believe me?"

Believe him, when he wanted to steal my data, my honor and my pride? Ridiculous! I stare him down, and see something raw in his eyes...I have to know more. "The surgery was over. Why did you want to watch the recording again?"

He breathes heavily, staring at the cane gripped in his hands. "I know I'm not alone in this love…" he pauses, gathers his thoughts. "Not many understand this bond, and I can't explain how it happens, but it _happens!_ The first time I heard there was an unknown disease, I was captivated. How has it kept its secrets so long? The more I learn, the more I want to learn! Stigma is fierce, elegant, and powerful—Professor, I've heard your voice when you speak of it, I know you understand!"

I laugh sadly. "I used to be fascinated by its uniqueness. I thought culturing it was a wise plan—I was wrong_,_ Luc! Stigma has both ruined and killed. Don't interrupt, it's true. Look at us if you want proof! It crippled you and broke me. Markus was right, I had no business playing with that fire."

"I refuse to believe that," Luc snaps. "Stigma is pure; its innocence frees it from right and wrong, all that is wrong or right is what we interpret. The disease itself is holy, and I will not forsake it."

"The disease itself is holy," I repeat softly. "I said that to Markus…tried so hard to convince him that everything starts beautiful, it's the humans who twist and blacken everything."

"That's right." He leans forward. "And do you still believe it?"

For the first time we lock eyes, and I realize my heart is pounding. "What if I still love it," I whisper, "And all my efforts to save it fail? What if the leading scientists damn it to hell?"

"You will lose a piece of yourself," Luc says softly. "But…it's better than killing it."

I nod slowly. "I think I see, but…I have so much blood on my hands. How can I still love what killed innocent people?"

"They were victims of Stigma abuse, not the pure form you studied for so long. The real Stigma…I've seen it in your recordings of the first specimens. Of course others will twist its beauty, they just don't understand!"

"I've never heard anyone else talk…the way I used to think," I whisper, looking away.

"Don't stop thinking like that. You have to hold on to everything that you know to be true, or everything that makes you who you are will die."

I swallow and look down at my clenched hands. "I…I have to think about this, Luc. It's…"

"Of course, Professor. I'm sure you want to rest for a while anyway. I'll be on my way." He stands and stretches, and before my eyes his knees give out beneath him. I'm helpless to do anything--he falls, grabs at the edge of my bed. I expect him to straighten, but he lowers himself to the floor, grasping the edge of the bedframe and breathing rapidly, eyes wide.

"Luc…do you need me to call Elena?" My hand is already reaching for the nurse call button.

"No! No, I'm fine." Luc's breaths deepen and lose their rough desperation. "Just…give me a minute…" He hauls himself painfully to his feet and grasps his cane. "I'll…be fine. Promise." He gives me a shaky smile.

_Luc… how can two people come through the same fire burned differently? _The strange mystery draws a smile from me as I gaze at Luc's retreating back. Then, I have it. Not the answer to that riddle, but the key to the greatest riddle of my life. Even if Stigma is scourged from the earth, the core of why I loved it will live on in every puzzle that baffles and delights. Stigma is immortal, omnipresent. Love, or kill? I know my decision.

"Luc."

He pauses at the door.

"Will you…come back?"

"Of course, Professor." The lingering traces of con man finally evaporate, and he gives me a childlike smile. "You know…I always admired you." And then he's gone. For a moment I wonder if he was really here.

I start to lie back, but then sit up instead and pull the window shade open. I haven't looked out the window for so long…the faint reddish light on the trees makes my breath catch. I watch until I see Luc limping his patient way across the parking lot. He reaches his car, and even after he's driven away I remain staring out the window at the sunlit branches and drifting clouds.

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**A/N:** Ah, so Luc has now brought back some of the Prof.'s spirit, eh? But…now how will things be between Markus and the Prof.? Hmm…also, are Markus and Luc reconciled? Perhaps not…Anyhoo, I know this chapter took an insane time to put up. I really don't know why…But you see, I am working on this!


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